


my boy's an ugly crier, but he's such a pretty liar

by lacepirate



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Human Experimentation, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Beta Read, Rated for future chapters, Slow Burn, housekeeper!peter, mention and discussion of kidnapping and human testing, reference to recreational drug use (weed), references to past alcohol abuse/alcoholism, references to past prescription drug use, trigger warnings apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-07-29 22:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20089621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacepirate/pseuds/lacepirate
Summary: Cleaning Tony Stark's penthouse a few times a week is a pretty decent setup, until he goes and sticks his foot in his mouth and goes past the point of no return.-For the past three years, all Peter's done is clean Tony's New York penthouse, no questions asked. But when he finally gets to meet him, he catches his attention in the exact way he didn't want.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive me i'm deliberately trying to make this vague and ambiguous for *effect* so bear with me pls, this time, it's actually wild, I have the whole plot figured out, I just gotta figure out how to write it, and comments and kudos keep me going and kind of light a fire under my ass, so literally any feedback is received with much love

Honestly, for only having to work a few times a week, he was paid  _ really  _ fucking well. Like, obscene amounts of money. His friends have asked him before if he was secretly doing sex work for the many millionaires in the city. He wanted to laugh and wink at them usually, but he just denied it. Though, Peter kind of wished that in the last three years, he’d get to meet him at least once, but nope. But when he thought about it even harder, he’s not sure if he’d ever be able to see  _ the  _ Tony Stark the same way as he did before he started. Before he was cleaning vomit, piss, blood, sweat, saliva, and cum off of various surfaces of Tony’s New York penthouse. If there’s one thing about partiers, it’s that there’s always a trail of garbage and droppings to clean up behind them.

And to be honest, it hadn’t actually been that bad as of late. As of the last six or so months, Tony has decided that being sober is a thing that people do. Good for him for getting help, though, because if Peter wasn’t paid as well as he was, he probably would have been worried about it. But, he figures the man has more than enough money to get the help he needs, it’s just that he had to come to terms with himself first. All of the therapists and rehabs and treatments in the world wouldn’t be able to help someone if they didn’t want to recognize that there was a problem in the first place. 

The Avengers probably also had something to do with that too though. 

The whole world was watching when Tony flew himself into the portal above New York. Peter got to see (indirectly) that a whole different man came out. 

In the few weeks following, where Ms. Potts was usually the one to contact him about when to show up for his shifts if they ever were to vary, an unknown voice rang in his ear telling him that he was going to get paid time off until further notice. Three weeks had gone by before he heard anything, and when Pepper called him, he didn’t realize how much tension he was holding in his shoulders until it finally released. 

When he finally was able to go back in again, there were some changes. Mostly small, but Peter’s found that those ones scream the loudest. Before, there were various glasses littered around the penthouse, with various kinds and levels of alcohol (and sometimes some more questionable liquids) and different lip imprints on the rim. After, there was only one glass to clean up. Sometimes two if the first one was smashed into pieces on the floor after being hurled at the wall. 

And granted, Peter didn’t know what the man’s house habits were like before Afghanistan, be he’s willing to make bets that it was even worse.

After some time though, Peter had to clean up less and less glass shards off of the floor. And then one day, in the middle of sanitizing and wiping down the bar, earbuds firmly stuck in his ears, he noticed that all of the bottles were gone. Every single one, even the cheap bottom shelf emergency shit, that he knows for a fact isn’t something to savor, but something to get you shitfaced as fast as possible. That same day, when he moved on to cleaning the bathroom, he reached for the bag lining the garbage can under the sink, and noticed that various prescription bottles were laying inside, all of them completely empty. And you really shouldn’t be flushing any drugs down the toilet, but the sentiment still stood. In a vague, disconnected sense, Peter was very, very proud of him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t tear up when he found them. 

He was paid more steadily now, that his behaviour was more predictable. Less last second parties. Pepper always profusely apologized to him, even though he always tried to reassure her that it was okay (mostly because it was his job) and that it honestly wasn’t the worst thing he’d cleaned. Not that he’d had a good resume of cleaners before this one, but when you’re crying from cleaning up your alcoholic relative’s vomit one too many times in a week, it hits home differently. He’d take suspicious stains, trash, and food waste over that any day. Pepper was probably one of the kindest people Peter’s ever met. But she’s also the most stubborn. She  _ always  _ slipped him a hearty bonus when she called him in last minute, which happened quite a lot admittedly. He desperately tried to fight her on it, because really? He feels kind of guilty for being able to pay his rent for months from only working three, maybe four days a week. But she always denied it and refused to take the bonus back. 

He mostly eases his guilt by paying Ned’s half of the rent with it. Ned fought him at first, but after a heart to heart coming down from a screaming match, Ned realized that Peter just wanted to make sure he was cared for and didn’t have to strain himself trying to make ends meet, especially while he was in school, while Peter had enough to cover it. But, he could see how Ned took it offensively, as if he didn’t believe in him and his abilities enough. It was shortly after that he ended up telling Ned he was Spiderman, slinging webs and saving people throughout New York. He still didn’t know how he got his powers though, and he  _ really, really  _ wanted it to stay that way. He knows that Ned suspects it had to do with the months in which he went missing, but he doesn’t ask about it, and for that Peter is infinitely grateful. 

“-ter? Peter!” 

Peter startles, turning from where he was sitting on the sofa, staring blankly in thought at the TV. “Huh?”

“I’ve been calling your name for like a minute dude, MJ’s asking if you want to see a movie tonight.” Ned looks down at the texts on his phone screen.

“Oh, shit, sorry, I can’t I have to go into work today,”

“On a Friday evening? That’s weird.”

“Yeah, well, it didn’t really have any consistent hours to start with, so. I guess the house will be clear this evening because they had some important meeting to go to in another time zone or something,” and Ned looks and him incredulously, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I dunno man, it’s billionaire shit, don’t look at me like that.” And he seems to be okay with that answer because he just smiles, shakes his head, and goes back to his phone. 

-

Placing his thumb on the scanner (because why would Tony fucking Stark use actual keys to open his door) the front door clicks open with and affirmed beep, and when he steps through the threshold, he’s greeted by a crisp “ _ Good evening, Mr. Parker.” _

“Hey JARVIS,” Peter smiles back, careful to edge his shoes off and leave them neatly beside the door. 

He gets jealous in a vague sense when he steps into the living room, watching the sun starting to make its crawl across the horizon to set, from the twelve foot floor to ceiling windows, filling the unlit room with a calm and cozy ambience. Well, they don’t call it the _ golden hour  _ for nothing. 

Peter makes his way to the storage closet, grabbing the metal caddy of various cleaning chemicals (some very proudly made by himself, because the fumes from the others were giving him headaches on account of his senses being heightened - and if they actually cleaned  _ better  _ than the store bought, that was just a bonus) and glances at the ceiling as he speaks, because even with the amount of time he’s spent talking to the AI, he’s still not sure where he’s supposed to be looking. 

“I have another  _ hypothetical _ for you, JARVIS,” he says conspiratorially. 

_ “Oh?” _ the AI inquires.

He’s made a habit of asking him about various things; conspiracy theories, philosophical debates, the list goes on. He only started doing it because Ned asked him if he had heard JARVIS talk to him before. Of course, that realization hit him like a brick wall to the face. Once he got comfortable talking to the AI, he started to greet Peter when he walked in, and then Peter got curious of the AI’s more philosophical capabilities. Everyone had a vague sense of what JARVIS was more or less capable of on a basic level, but he really wanted to push the boundaries and see exactly where the line was. What makes him such a special AI? 

“I’m assuming you know what the Loch Ness monster is?”

_ “I am able to access an endless stream of everything the Internet has to offer, so yes, I do.” _

Peter smirks as he’s grabbing a stack of wash cloths.

“Cheeky. Okay, so there’s this theory right -” and he goes on to explain something he had watched last night with Ned on Ancient Aliens. Ned was pretty baked, and Peter was buzzed, though it definitely took what would be considered an unhealthy amount for anyone else. He definitely wanted to hear what kind of reasoning JARVIS could come up with for the absolute reach that it was. 

Nothing is actually messy tonight either. It’s just in need of a general clean. He’s in the middle of vacuuming when JARVIS finishes his stance.

“Okay, but do you think it’s  _ possible _ ? Do you think quartz can even be used that way on earth? And if it can, how did the people in ancient Egypt and stuff know how? Did they learn it from something else?” He’s sure that JARVIS knows exactly what he’s doing by now, it’s not even subtle, it also just kind of helps him feel a little less disconnected as he’s doing the chores.

_ “If you’d like sir, I can bring up a simulation on the physical limits and capability of quartz?” _

“Nah, that’s okay,” Peter waves his hand in dismissal. “I just meant, like, do  _ you  _ think it’s possible?”

There’s a pretty long but not awkward pause as he waits for a response.  _ “I suppose there are things that are of this world that we do not yet know of.”  _

Peter smiles brightly, turning off the vacuum and packing it up to put back in the closet. And that’s probably the best answer he could have gotten. Because  _ we? _ And  _ not yet know of?  _ He’s sure at this point that Tony Stark had to have made a deal with the devil to be able to make something this good. 

Peter chuckles to himself and then lets himself get carried in a stream of his own thoughts, going about the motions of cleaning the penthouse, surfaces he’s scrubbed countless times before. 

  
  
  
  
  


Peter’s forearm deep in a stream of water coming from the oversized faucet in the ensuite bathroom, on his knees and bent over the edge of the tub, when the feeling hits his neck. The hairs that aren’t submerged in water stand on end, which is weird, because he usually only gets this reaction when he’s about to be shot at or something of the like. But it’s too easy to dismiss the thought, because it’s not been wrong so far, and he’s not about to break that streak. 

His body moves without his permission, turning 180 degrees, his hands wanting to reach for his web shooters, but he left the mechanisms at home, doesn’t want to risk any chance of being busted - and he stops himself from trying to jump on the body entering the room, because holy  _ shit,  _ Tony Stark has the watch gauntlet pointed directly at his face. And  _ holy shit _ , Tony Stark has the watch gauntlet pointed at his face! 

He’s totally stuck between being star struck (because even though he cleans his house regularly, he finally comes face to face with  _ Tony Stark _ ) being terrified (because he currently is being threatened to be incinerated by the Iron Man gauntlet) and embarrassed (because he’s definitely not prepared for this, he’s only wearing an old flannel and a Ramones tee, and his soft and comfy jersey shorts because  _ fuck this summer heat _ ). He realizes that Tony is speaking, but it’s not directed at him.

“Tony! I told you, it’s Peter! He’s the cleaner!” he hears Pepper half scream from behind Tony’s figure blocking the doorway, as well as her heels clicking as she runs towards them.

Tony raises an eyebrow at him, and Peter thinks he can see the faint flicker on his glasses and thinks he’s probably scanning him for weapons right now. Which, okay, totally fair, because if someone’s in your house, it'd be pretty scary, especially being someone who basically wears a target on their back and flips off the world every day. 

Peter holds his hands out in a kind of mock surrender motion. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean -”

“Peter! Oh my god, I’m so sorry - Tony!” Pepper yells at Tony, and pushes his hand down from its defensive stance, and Peter watches the nanites flow (uncomfortably not like technology and more like water) back up his hand and take the formation of something resembling a watch again. 

Now that it’s not pointed at his face, his heart speeds up at the thought of being able to see something so amazing and advanced right in front of him. The most advanced piece of tech he has in his shared apartment is a mid-generation PS3 that him and Ned gutted, rebuilt, and modded from the dumpster behind his building. 

Peter realizes he’s been staring for just a beat too long at the space where the nanites retracted. He slowly and painfully drags his eyes up to meet Tony’s and sees that he’s already staring at him. He feels his cheeks heat involuntarily and he curses inwardly.

Pepper is still talking at Tony when he feels a palpable change in the air, could see it even if he tried really hard, and sees Tony’s eyes trail down his body to his socked feet, and back up again, holding eye contact and grinning. The blush grows and Peter can feel it flowing down his neck and on to his chest and shoulders like liquid fire in his veins. 

“You know, I was totally going to shoot at you, but the whole bathtub situation there really threw me for a loop.” 

Peter’s jaw drops open a little bit, and honestly, he’s really not sure how to respond.

Pepper punches Tony’s shoulder, “Tony I told you this before we left that Peter would probably be here when we got back-” Tony finally turns to face her.

“Oh sorry, was this before or after Hammer was trying to eye-fuck you from across the room?” and for some reason, Peter’s heart drops a little bit when he hears that because, weren’t they broken up now? They’ve been on and off again a couple of times, but the last ‘off’ was some months back, or was Peter mishearing the almost-jealousy in his voice?

She glares at him, and Peter suddenly feels very sorry for if she decides to ever have children. Pepper pointedly ignores Tony and his comment, and turns to Peter in an attempt to smooth it over.

“Peter, I’m so sorry, we got cut short tonight-”

“Because apparently the need to attend a fashion show is reason enough to cancel a whole diplomatic conference -” Tony rambles on in the background, and Pepper talks over him, explaining what had happened and Peter nods along like he could possibly understand.

Peter is sure he looks at the very least, mildly panicked. This is definitely not how he thought this day would go, and this is definitely  _ not  _ how he pictured finally meeting his idol and technically his boss.

“-peter, please take the rest of the night off, I’m sure you need it now, and anything you need just let me know-” 

“Oh, no, Ms. Potts, it’s okay! I just - I mean, I’m pretty much done, this was my last stop and then -”

“Peter you just had a gun pointed at your face, please go home and rest,” and because Peter’s brain is just a flat out asshole with cutting in when it doesn’t need to be in situations like this, he can’t help himself when he cuts in and says, 

“Well, I mean technically, it’s not  _ really  _ a gun, is it? I don’t think the repulsors meet the required criteria for it?” he really meant to say in one way or another that, really, it actually was fine, and on the list of completely acceptable reactions one could have had when you find someone in your home that you didn’t know was there - and it’s also hardly the worst situation he’s found himself in, but poor Pepper didn’t need to know that.

Pepper looks a little stunned, but she smiles gently at him anyway, and oh shit,  _ good job Parker, you just talked your way out of a good job with great pay and dug your own grave while you’re at it,  _ and then Tony speaks up from behind her and they both turn to face him, but Tony is looking directly at Pepper.

“I like this one - where did you find him?” she rolls her eyes and Peter’s glowing blush returns again.

“He has a  _ name  _ Tony-”

“Peter was it? What’s your last name?”

Peter stutters, fiddling with his hands, that are still wet from the water. “P-parker, Sir.”

“Where you from, kid?”

“Uh, Queens.”

Tony nods along, and he knows that he’s pulled up some kind of file on the inside screens of his glasses. He kind of worries what’s on them. 

He hums. “Ooh, 4.0 GPA, impressive, Mr. Parker -” 

And that hits him like a freight train. His vision fills with the dull grays and the enclosure of metal and glass all around him, like he’s there again, and he doesn’t have a way out, and his rough voice like nails on chalkboard is whispering in his ear again and he’s strapped to the chair, he doesn’t have anywhere to go and- 

“Please, just - Peter is fine, Mr. Stark.” he hopes he wasn’t too rude, but it’s all he could get out in a somewhat full sentence before he needs to swallow the knot in his throat and push it down to deal with when he gets home. 

The strain doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them, unfortunately. Pepper has sympathy in her eyes, but Tony’s is something else that Peter can’t quite place. 

“How old are you, Pete? Because, sorry, but with that baby face you look like you’re in highschool still.”

“I’m uh, 23 in a couple of weeks,”

Tony whistles lowly.

“So how’d you get stuck doing this?”

He knows that he’s trying to get a read on him, probably an occupational hazard; seeing if he’s a potential threat. Especially being someone who’s in his home regularly. He guesses that it’s just never occured to the man before. 

“N-not stuck sir. I just saw a posting for it, thought it couldn’t hurt to apply.” for his bank account or his sanity, if he had to explain to one more person that  _ no, you can’t use expired coupons  _ he might have smothered himself by now. 

“So you like working like this? Cleaning, by yourself?” Peter notices Pepper slip out of the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, I mean, I’m not technically by myself. JARVIS is a very polite host.”

Tony smirks and looks maybe slightly offended.

“You don’t mind it? I gotta say, you’re not exactly the type I envisioned as a cleaner, then again, I selfishly never put much thought into who was cleaning up my various-” he seems to have realized that he’s dug himself a bit of a hole, trying to double back and fix it, but it’s too late because Peter’s still as much of a smartass as he was a minute ago. 

“Leavings?” Peter interrupts and finishes for him. He wants to cringe, but he goes with the moment, building the facade for himself, and quirks the edge of his lips up in a grin. 

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like  _ biowaste _ -”

“Well, sometimes it was. You know how parties get. Not everyone can hold their liquor, or people get injured, they get sloppy - oh, not to mention how much fun it looked like everyone had at the _after parties_.” and he knows Tony understands the innuendo. 

It’s almost like he can hear aunt May, standing beside him and pinching his ear for being sassy to his teachers. But, he’s come this far and figures he’s losing his job anyway so he might as well say it all.

“But, lately it’s been pretty easy, not a whole lot of mess to clean up anymore. Just, yenno, general upkeep. But, it’s been good,” he’s already pictured how he’s going to walk out after, and never return, and he feels bad that he never got to say a proper goodbye to JARVIS. 

“And with all due respect, I don’t mean this to be demeaning or belittling, but it takes some kinda balls to cut cold turkey like that. And I respect that.” He pauses and waits to be slapped or something. Anything. But what he doesn’t expect was a full blown gut-laugh. 

Tony leans up again, wiping his eyes under the glasses. “Oh man, kid, where have you been all my life?”

“Apparently, cleaning your house,” and that just makes it worse because he’s laughing again. Peter really wants to laugh with him, but to be honest, this situation is so incredibly hard to read, even with his sixth sense.

Pepper slips back in beside Tony, interrupting with another glare at him.

“Peter, I have a ride home for you, he’s downstairs,” she reaches out and gently grabs his hand to lead him out of the room, towards the front door. 

She walks him all the way to the elevator, after he’s put his shoes on, telling him that the driver’s name is Happy and that he’s gladly going to drive him home; and she whispers to him that she’d call him tomorrow, before Tony appears at her shoulder again. She waves to him as the elevator doors close.

If it weren’t for his hearing being enhanced he wouldn’t have heard Tony’s comment,

“I’m keeping him-” and the subsequent 

“No, Tony, no-” before the voices fade from his reach. 

  
  
  


Ned is sitting on the sofa, controller in hand, playing a game when he unlocks the door. He trudges himself over to the couch and dramatically flops down, falling over the back of it. 

“Bad shift?” Ned asks.

“Dude, you have no idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **warnings being added for this chapter:** mention/discussion of kidnapping, human testing, testing on children, references to past alcohol abuse and alcoholism, as well as what could most definitely be classified as invasion of privacy. please heed these and read at your own risk.
> 
> with that being said, this is definitely going to have some dark themes and undertones especially from this point on, so if you're not for that, i'm not offended in the slightest if you discontinue reading, and I would never ever want someone to try and continue reading despite being triggered or anything, please take care of yourself!!

"JARVIS?" 

" _ Sir? _ " he replies, and Tony continues to crouch down, grabbing a can out of the mini fridge beneath the bar.

"Give me more depth about Parker, please." completely ignoring what he's sure Pepper just yelled at him for, spouting about another sexual harassment lawsuit and scandal, or something like that, it's basically a script at this point. 

_ "Shall I arrange for a basket for Ms. Potts, then?"  _

Tony smiles. "You know me so well, love." 

_ "Files on Stark Industries record, Peter Benjamin Parker, aged 23, currently residing in Queens. A clean bill of health, all screenings returned negative in any area of concern-"  _ Tony zones out for half a minute to let JARVIS drone on about medical tests before he asks about the juicy bits. 

"Yeah, okay, great, what's his history look like?" 

_ "As far as academics go sir, overwhelmingly positive, held a 4.0 grade point average throughout his academic career, and save for one short portion, he had perfect attendance rates as well."  _

"One portion?" Tony inquires. 

_ "Yes. For three months when he was 17, he was reported as a missing persons case by his legal guardian, May Parker. Shortly before his return, Ms. Parker was killed in a head on collision as a result of intoxication."  _

"Okay, that's more to unpack than I thought, gonna come back to the missing persons thing in a second, did she have a history?" 

_ "Her license had been suspended until shortly before the accident as the result from a previous DUI." _

"Hospital visits? When did that start?" 

_ "A few visits on record, sir. It seems she was brought in by Mr. Parker most of the time. He had spoken to the healthcare practitioners about getting treatment for alcoholism. Ms. Parker adamantly refused treatment, denying a problem."  _

"Ah." Tony hums. He vaguely thinks he should feel guilty for digging this far already, but Peter should know that he (and Stark Industries) had access to all of this stuff, right? Did Pepper know this, and that's why she didn't want him searching? Or, was is just because she knew him entirely too well for his own good (or fun)? 

"What about the missing persons case?" he takes a sip of Coke, setting it down on his workbench. Now that he knows Peter's been the one cleaning up his disastrous messes for the last three years, he can't help himself from seeing the kid parade around his penthouse in his mind's eye.

_ "The January of Mr. Parker's 11th grade year, he was reported missing by Ms. Parker. She claimed to have woken one day to find him missing. Initially she was considered a suspect, but after running checks on her, she was dismissed. He returned 93 days after the missing persons report was filed, in perfect health. He claimed that he had been staying at a close friend's house in that time frame, saying that his Aunt's problem with alcohol drove him out, and after a full evaluation of Mr. Parker, the case was closed with no further action." _

"Yup, that'd do it," Tony sighs, remembering many nights when his mother would turn a blind eye when watching him sneak out of the house, because for as much shit at he could put up with by that point, there was only so much you could do, you had to take measures to keep yourself sane too. 

_ “Sir, you have an incoming call from Captain Rogers.” _

“Put ‘em up,” he says, already pulling out parts, pieces and tools to start his night in the lab. He’s only a tiny bit annoyed when Steve’s voice rings through the speakers, he’s in a fantastic mood, all things considering, but meeting Peter had definitely tipped the scales because he  _ was  _ going to hunker down on the couch and mope angirly through emails. 

_ “Tony,”  _

“Steve.” He replies curtly. There’s really not any tension anymore, they’d both gotten over their (admittedly) stupid pissing contest, it was more the muscle memory for Tony to greet him that way now. 

_ “New intel on a proposed assignment. It’s in your playing field.” _

“Well, you got me, what is it, sweetcheeks?” and Steve ignores his comment.

_ “12 new missing persons were reported today, all between the ages of 8 and 16. They disappeared two days ago, police were searching in that time and came up empty handed,” _

“So a band of missing kids is an Avengers level threat now? I’ll admit, it is a little odd, but I didn’t realize it was a threat to the world’s security.” he snipes.

_ “Tony, I’m not finished. Along the same timeline, a surge in radioactive readings peaked at a lab just outside the city, owned by Oscorp.”  _ Tony freezes. Now,  _ that’s  _ a little more odd. Something about Oscorp doesn’t sit right with him, it never has. Norman Osborn was a very private man, and every time Tony had met him at the many galas and dinners and charities in his time, shaking his hand had always given him chills, while he not so subtly wiped his hand on his suit pants, as if he could simply wipe off the contamination. 

_ “Oscorp filed for radioactive patents on their testings about six years ago. A surge of near identical output readings was found from just after it was filed. It’s been mostly dead air until now, but at the time of the first surge, there was another group of children reported as missing persons, similar in ages.”  _

Something about that rings a very distant bell in Tony’s mind, now that he’s shifted his headspace to that of  _ Work: Avengers,  _ he vows to come back to it later. 

“Soo, we think they’re using groups of kids as radioactive test subjects? What for?” Tony thinks he knows what for, Steve being a prime example of what happens when it goes right. If Steve notices it in his voice, he doesn’t comment.

_ “That’s not all. Out of the group of kids that were reported missing, three had returned, under mysterious circumstances. They were all assessed and questioned. They appeared at a police station on the edge of the city in the middle of the night, in perfect health. However, they were reported as being covered in dust, and wearing hospital gowns, despite having any kind of mandated wrist band or any other kind of identifiers.” _

Tony hums, listening. “What did the kids say?”

_ “The kids had no reported memory loss or cognitive issues, and all of their stories correlate to each other and check out. They said that they were taken from the street, remember being thrown into a vehicle of some kind, and woke up strapped to chairs, inside of a cell of some kind. From what could be gathered, the children said that it was high tech and clean. _

_ “Here comes the fun part; upon the children being taken out to what can be deduced as an open lab space, and older boy emerged from a different cell, taking down all the captors in the space and freeing them. The older boy then proceeded to lead them all out of the lab and to safety at the police station. When adamantly questioned about the person that saved them, they all refused to comment on any kind of identifiers about him; only that he was probably within the age range of 16 to 20 years. The person who saved the children remains unknown in every sense of the word. After some suspicious circumstances, the case was closed.”  _

“Well, that just reeks of hush money,” Tony shakes his head. “A plan in the works I presume?” 

_ “Yes. Fury and Hill want you here tomorrow morning, 0900.”  _ He pointedly doesn’t comment that it’s actually technically  _ today  _ at this point. 

Tony (a little reluctantly) agrees after a glance to the clock reads  _ 02:34,  _ and they bid their goodnights. 

  
  


He wanders in to his ensuite, and he swears he can still feel the vague warmth of Peter’s body as he walked passed him, in tow by Pepper. Oddly enough, the smell of harsh cleaners doesn’t hit him like he expects it to, even though he watched Peter leave in the midst of cleaning not even a few hours ago. A glint of the metal caddy tote full of bottles catches his eye, sitting of the wide sill of the bathtub.

He picks up a bottle and is surprised to find that there’s no label on it.  _ That’s probably not WHMIS standard  _ but a voice in the back of his head that sounds exactly like his AI tells him that nothing that he carries out in his lab is up to standard in following health and safety protocols. 

“JARVIS? What’s in here?”

_ “It is Mr. Parker’s personal concoction for cleaning,”  _ and he goes on listing the chemical components, Tony’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

“He  _ made  _ this?”

_ “Yes, among others, I have personally examined them and they are of no concern to the health and safety of anyone. In fact, they are widely less harmful than more standard or common cleaners, yet remains as or more effective as well as being less impactful on the direct and extended environment.”  _ and is that... pride that he hears in JARVIS’s voice? He created the damn AI and he doesn’t even know all there is to him. At least, not when Peter’s had the last three years to interact with him without Tony’s knowledge. 

“Where does he go to school again?”

_ “He is currently not enrolled in any post secondary, sir.” _

And, well. That’s interesting. Tony knows first had that you don’t technically need schooling to be intelligent or knowledgeable, but it’s generally more socially accepted that way. 

He’s completely lost in his daydreaming about the kid as he carries out his nightly routine. He asks JARVIS to turn on the TV to a news outlet he knows is pretty much as unbiased as they can be, as he crawls under his sheets. They’re playing a repeat from the daytime, a small segment on New York’s newest crime fighter, Spiderman. They’re debating whether or not he’s actually a part of the Avengers and just haven’t announced it to the public yet. They seem to be pretty respectful about Spiderman’s wish to remain anonymous, and he can tell from the way they’re talking that they’re walking on eggshells a little trying to avoid it. 

He falls asleep like that, wheels turning, images of Spiderman flashing on the screen, and thoughts of Peter Parker crossing his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!!! kudos and comments warm my heart


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay, I hit a writer's block shortly after posting the last chapter, and just got around to finishing this one after finishing another work. 
> 
> same warnings apply to this chapter! plus, maybe very slightly angsty if you squint.

All in all, Peter’s had quite an enjoyable morning. He got to sleep in, and when he woke up, Ned already had the coffee made and ready for him, and now, they’re both playing Dark Souls. Peter wasn’t too competitive when it came to games, but he enjoys it if only to see Ned get uber excited about it. He loves listening to him ramble when he gets happy and passionate about things. 

Peter feels more than hears his phone buzzing across the side table. Squinting to look over at the screen, he scrambles to get up and answer, leaving Ned alone in their match. He throws him what he hopes is received as an apologetic look as he answers. 

“Hi, Ms. Potts!” Ned hears and the scowl on his face fades. No matter how much he loves Peter, Ned would also bail on an online game to answer his phone for a billionaire. 

_ “Hi Peter, I just wanted to check up on you this morning, are you okay? I’m so sorry again - I’d be more than happy to send you a list of contacts for some different counselling or therapy services that have worked with us closely and-” _

Peter turns his back on Ned, walking over to the window and gazing out. “No! Ms. Potts, I promise I’m totally fine, and if I’m being completely honest, that was probably on the top three list of coolest experiences I’ve ever had,” he hears Pepper laughing over the receiver.

_ “I assumed as much, to be honest, I know that you’ve followed Tony’s work for some time.” _

Even though Pepper can’t see it, he knows that she knows he’s blushing again.

_ “With that, I wanted to ask you if you needed some more time to yourself before you return? It’s more than okay if you need a few-”  _ Peter sputters.

“Wait, what? Return?” he says before he can stop himself. 

_ “Yes? What, did you think I was going to fire you? Peter, you’re smarter than that and we both know it,” _

“I - Well - With all due respect Ms. Potts, I thought I made an asshat of myself. I kind of have this problem where sometimes I just, like, don’t have a filter between my brain and my mouth, and it’s gotten me in trouble more than a few times to be completely honest.”

Pepper sighs softly, but it just kind of sounds like she’s trying not to laugh again.  _ “Peter, believe me when I say this, there’s not a whole lot of people who can put up with Tony Stark face to face, let alone cleaning his house, not only that but, if it counts for anything, I don’t think you made an asshat of yourself,” _

Peter chuckles as she continues.  _ “And I like you, Peter. You’re a really, really good kid. Of course, if you wanted to resign from the position - if you’re uncomfortable for any reason, I won’t stop you, but know that I would love it if you stayed.” _

“I - I’d love it too- to stay I mean. Cleaning. For you.” 

She laughs again, asking Peter if he would be okay to go back in a couple of days. He agrees, and they both say goodbye.

“Soo, you didn’t lose your job?” Ned asks from the sofa and when Peter turns he sees the big mocking  _ YOU DIED _ on the screen. 

“Apparently not?” and Peter shrugs, but there’s some kind of satisfactory smile creeping on to his cheeks.

He makes a face at his phone when it vibrates again in his hand, reading the email notification. It’s a money transfer notification from his bank, the memo line reads: 

_ My apologies again, Peter. Tony says “treat yourself for doing a bang-up job”. - Pepper Potts. _

And, well. That’s an extra $650 he didn’t really need, but he’ll take it nonetheless. In any case, he knows what happens when he tries to fight Pepper. It’s one of the extremely few fights he won’t win. 

“Hey Ned, wanna go out to that really nice new sushi place tonight?”

-

  
  
  


The next few days go off without a hitch, and Peter can’t help himself in feeling an odd sense of pride, or maybe satisfaction? Somehow, Pepper didn’t see him for the colossal piping hot mess that he thought he made very evident in showing. 

But now he feels like he has to be just a little extra careful, and he feels slightly nervous when Pepper texts him asking him if Monday night was okay for him, and yet again, if he was okay with going back. And of course, he wasn’t going to say no (obviously), he was planning to go out on patrol like he did every night, but he could just push it to a little bit later. Apparently Tony was making trips back and forth between the penthouse and the Avengers tower for the past couple of days. (Peter vaguely wonders if he should even know about that, but who could he possibly tell? And would he even want to?)

But, much to Peter’s surprise, he realizes he’s not the only one there when he steps through the front door. JARVIS’s voice still rings out.

_ “Good evening, Mr. Parker.”  _ Peter also kind of wonders why he doesn’t have the same reaction when JARVIS addresses him like that. Maybe it’s because his voice is just so different; so contrastive that his brain isn’t able to draw the same conclusions. JARVIS’s voice is a very smooth and polite lilt - something that you’d want to read you to sleep every night - the complete opposite of  _ his  _ rough, gravelly tone, never predictable in the way he spoke. Peter doesn’t want to dignify that thought with a reaction right now though, so he shakes his head and moves forward.

“Hey JARVIS -” a loud clang, that sounds much like an empty aluminum tray falling to a tiled floor, comes from some distance to his right, followed by a loud  _ “FUCK - ouch, fuck, okay, need to work on that one.” _

“Um, JARVIS?”

_ “Yes, Mr. Parker?”  _

“Uh, is Mr. Stark still here?” Peter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

_ “Yes, he is currently in his private laboratory.”  _

Peter nods, trying his best for nonchalance, even though he knows that the AI probably isn’t capable of caring about it. “Ah, okay. I’ll just… okay.”

He moves toward the housekeeping closet, reaching for the caddy, but it’s oddly absent from its usual spot. And then he remembers a repulsor pointed at his face, and realizes he left it in the ensuite when he was here last. What are the chances of it still being there? Not great, apparently. Especially with his luck. Peter suppresses a groan when he searches around, but it’s not to be found.

“Uh, JARVIS, do you know where my stuff went?” he figures he should have been more specific, but JARVIS is smart, he knows what he means. 

_ “The cleaning supplies are in Mr. Stark’s lab.”  _

Fuck. Okay. He can do this. No big deal right? All he has to do is ask for his stuff. Fuck, he could probably even ask JARVIS to ask for him, but that sounds too much like a cop out, even for him.  _ _

The lab is pretty much the only place he doesn’t have access to, for obvious reasons. Peter probably would have been fired immediately if he  _ did  _ have access to it, because he literally would not be able to look without touching, much to his Aunt’s chagrin of telling him to repeatedly look with his eyes and not his hands. 

Peter can hear music playing at a fair volume, so he doesn’t think that knocking on the door would do him any good. He hesitates, hand clenched out in front of him, and he really doesn’t want to end up a piping hot blush by the end of this interaction that apparently needs to happen, because really, they’re paying him to clean. 

“C’mon Peter,  _ jesus christ _ -” he mumbles to himself. “JARVIS? Can you tell Mr. Stark that I’m here and that I need the supplies, please?” and he thinks that if JARVIS had a face, or a body for that matter, he would be able to see him nod in affirment. 

He takes a couple steps back from the door, self-consciously. He doesn’t want to look any creepier than he needs to be. He already technically invades Mr. Stark’s personal space on a regular basis. Then, he can hear the music turned down a few notches, and the shuffling of a moving body. His heart speeds up when he sees a shadow behind the frosted glass. 

Tony swings the door open, seemingly delighted to see him, which, he can’t even begin to imagine why.

“Peter! How are ya, kid? Sorry to take away from your exciting Monday night -” Peter can hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice, and just like that, he’s not that nervous anymore, but he tries not to let the displeasure of that statement show on his face. What if it was exciting? Why does he think Peter has nothing better to do with his time than clean his (one of many) penthouse? He could be swinging across New York right now, finding people who needed his help. 

“-But, I actually have a request for you, that is of course,  _ if  _ you’re feeling up to it?” Tony smirks, and - was that a flash of his tongue, tapping behind his teeth? 

Well, shit. He’s not sure whether to blame Tony for, well, being  _ Tony Stark _ , or to blame his dick for being entirely too responsive this late in his life. But, he’s gotta cut himself some slack somewhere, he’s constantly on edge from his powers; sometimes when he gets off of the subway, a pocket of wind will catch him and he’ll be raring to go. 

He struggles to ignore it, wringing his hands in front of him to distract his brain from trying to cover his crotch. 

“Wh-what did you have in mind, sir?” 

And there’s the blush again. That didn’t last very long, did it?

Tony smiles at him, and this time, there’s definitely a flash of tongue when he licks his lips.

“Oh, honey, if you keep calling me sir, I might just have to give you a new uniform.” He gestures for Peter to follow him as he turns and walks into the doorway. 

Peter might be easily embarrassed, but he’s not stupid. And that comment certainly does not help the growing situation in his pants. And - wait. Did Tony just… capital F Flirt with him? What the fuck?

Tony leads him to what he assumes is the main area, following him down a short hallway, lined with framed copies of some really old Stark Industries blueprints. 

The hallway gives way, and at first he’s a little overwhelmed with the amount of light blaring at him, and he can’t stop himself from shielding his eyes and groaning. It’s definitely too much stimulus, and he wishes that he had his mask, as makeshift as it was, to even help a little bit. It doesn’t necessarily hurt him, but it makes everything all scrambled, and that in and of itself was really irritating. 

Tony hears him groan, and immediately turns around, already preparing for the worst case scenario, already reaching for his nano-housing. 

Peter hears Tony call out. “JARVIS, turn the lighting down by half,”

He can see again. His senses have righted themselves, and it just leaves him a little embarrassed, but mostly annoyed with himself because now he has to explain something like that, because who reacts to normal lighting like that?

“Sorry kid, I didn’t realize it was so bright in here - I mean, I haven’t really seen any natural light in like, probably 36 hours-”

“No, it’s okay, really. I just, uh, kinda get - overwhelmed easily. Like, sensory overload. Happens a lot, it’s not a big deal.” 

Tony hums. “It happens a lot, huh?” It’s phrased like a question, but Peter knows it’s not, so he nods, a sheepish smile creeping on to his face.

“S’okay, kid, that’s not something you can help. That why you made your own cleaning concoctions? Because to be honest,” Tony waves his hand out in front of him, symbolizing the ‘iffy’ movement.

“Seems a little unsafe,”

Tony Stark is going to lecture Peter on safety? He can’t believe this. 

“Well Mr. Stark, I don’t really think you have any ground to stand on to be honest, about safety. I made sure everything would work out perfectly fine. And, it’s actually less impactful on the immediate and extended environment than the store-bought ones, works better too.” Peter smiles, self-assured, and Tony is starting to smirk too, so he continues.

“It has no smell - the others were giving me, like, migraines when I used them for too long, and I wasn’t able to find anything that didn’t have some kind of odor, so I figured I would just make it instead. It’s pretty easy stuff, so.” he shrugs. 

“And anyway, didn’t you openly flip off Senator Stern in court a few years ago? With the whole… yenno, safety thing?” 

“Yeah,  _ but _ , it wasn’t just him I was flipping off though, it was just  _ mainly  _ at him.”

Peter chuckles, finally taking a moment to look around the room. It was basically every nerd’s wet dream. A plethora of work benches, all with their own holo screens, all displaying their own schematics and blueprints of open projects. He finds that he really can’t help himself, mouth hanging open as he steps forward to gently touch surfaces. He’s eyeing some flasks and beakers of chemicals, sitting on a table, reading the small pad of paper with equations and formulas doodled on every inch. He feels vaguely at home. 

The only time he felt this comfortable was when he was at home, but not his home now (which wasn’t uncomfortable by any means), he means  _ home  _ home, when he was with May in the tiny apartment, his tiny single bed shoved in a too small room, his desk and shelves covered from one end to the other with old tech that he’d had to dumpster dive to get. It was a half decent way to get some money, all things considering at the time. He would rebuild and refurbish computers on his own, as well as fixing them for people he knew. Before that, Uncle Ben would help him. Admittedly, that’s how he got so into it in the first place. Ben worked for a lower-end mom and pop type tech store, and more often than not, he would come home with armfulls of things to show Peter. He ended up selling most of his things after a while though. Before he got truly desperate for cash, trying to support himself as best he could, to keep the stress off of May. 

But this lab was a million times more advanced, stocked to the nines. Anything and everything he could need was right in front of him, just begging to be played and tinkered with, pulled apart and put back together again.

He trailed himself to look at the more distant objects, noticing the furthest wall of the lab. It was holding the early Iron Man suits. Peter gasped instead of squealing, hoping it was just slightly better and less embarrassing. 

They were held behind their glass casings, obviously, and if Peter had access to this area regularly, he’d spend all of his time here cleaning his own hand prints off of the surface. 

“You like it?” he was so enamoured by the tech that somehow, he forgot Tony was still standing right next to him. It seemed like he was pleased watching Peter get so excited over it. Distantly, Peter worried about feeding his already too large ego. 

“I think that’d be the understatement of the century, Mr. Stark.” he grinned. 

“Well, bringing me to the actual reason I brought you in here - I want you to show me how you made them. You’ve got my whole lab at your disposal, so go wild, kid.”

Wow, that is not a sentence that he thought he’d ever hear in his lifetime. Uncle Ben is probably off laughing somewhere. 

“What, like you haven’t already analyzed it, element by element?” and Peter gestures to the familiar bottles on the table, some with their caps open. Tony laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I was curious, sue me. It’s some kinda shit you’ve made there, kid, this stuff could replace most of what’s out there now. And, with some modifications, could be applied to other things too.”

“Like what?”

“Well, from the look I got at it, if produced and applied on a large scale, something like an ocean cleanup, is one thing that comes to mind? For various things, you know - oil, plastics and microplastics, et cetera.”

Peter pauses in disbelief. Does Tony really think he’s capable of doing that? If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think he was sweet talking him. 

“Really? You think my mixtures could do that?”

“Well - like I said, with some modifications, but essentially, yeah. Where’d you learn to do that by the way?”

Peter leans forward onto the workbench holding his chemicals and fiddles with the cap on one, screwing and unscrewing it. 

“Midtown science and tech. I got my core chem done early, so I got to take electives that were more fun. Biochem was definitely my favourite.”

Tony sits on a stool on the other side of the workbench Peter’s stationed at. He can smell the older man’s scent, radiating off of him in waves. It makes Peter’s knees a little weak and (embarrassingly) his dick distantly throb. He smells like laundry and coffee, mixed in with some machine oil, maybe. And, is that a little bit of eucalyptus? Maybe his shampoo has eucalyptus in it. He feels guilty for knowing that he’s probably going to need a wank-fest when he gets home tonight. 

“Really? And, if I may - which, I might as well not say because I’m just going to ask anyway - what’d you do before this?” he gestures vaguely with his hand towards the entrance to the lab. Peter’s tongue feels a little heavy in his mouth when Tony leans forward, putting an elbow on the table to match his own, and resting his chin in his hand.

Peter’s cheeks heat up a little bit, feeling embarrassed. It’s not like he has anything past high school. He wanted to, he really did. He still does, it’s just that he has  _ things _ he needs to finish first. After May died, he couldn’t really focus on much, but sacked up and finished his schooling anyway, if only to get his high school diploma. That much was mostly thanks to Ned and MJ, helping him pick up the slack in ways he can’t even begin to formulate the words to thank them for. 

“Uh, just random stuff I guess. Nothing important. I was a cashier for a bit at a deli not far from my place until the owner retired and sold it. A bookstore after that, then I started doing contract cleaning after events and stuff part time. Did those for like, two years? And then three years ago I started here, so…”

Tony sighs theatrically, looking off in the distance over Peter’s shoulder. Something niggles at the back of his neck, but it’s not quite danger. It just feels as though something’s looming over him. Kind of like a sketchy looking cloud that hasn’t quite decided to rain yet. 

“You never pursued anything in STEM? You definitely have the grades, not to mention skill and knowledge to show for it.”

Peter’s blushing.  _ Again _ . Flattery from (probably) the world’s smartest man and best inventor will do that to a man. 

“No, I had some stuff to worry about at the time, and trying to get into school or a job would have taken too long for the… position I was in.”

“Yeah, I get it. Flying under the radar is tough.”

Wait,  _ what _ ? 

“Sorry, I should have mentioned that I pulled up your faculty file.” He says, noticing Peter’s confusion. “Your aunt, right?”

Peter feels a little invaded. And sure, it’s not really something he hides, but it’s not something he tells people either. Pepper had asked him about his history in the later stages of his interviews and screenings, and he couldn’t be anything but honest with her. He feels like he kind of owes that honesty to Tony too. Not because Pepper knew or anything like that, but because Peter’s gotten to personally witness his struggle with his own addictions. Peter did also mention how he was respectful of him for dealing with it too, the last time he was here. It’s not like he has to tell him everything (he definitely didn’t tell Pepper everything either, obviously) but he should tell him something, out of respect. Since he’s indirectly shared so much of himself with Peter. 

After a stunned moment of silence, Peter straightens himself, fiddling with the bottle’s cap in his hand, he stares down at it. 

“Yeah… She died just before I turned 17, from drunk driving. She was in and out of the hospital all the time, I tried to get her on treatment, but she just… didn’t want it. She didn’t think there was anything wrong. I… wanted to help her, I tried so hard. I tried different things, too. I tried guilt tripping her, I tried being gentle, I tried to hide it from her - but nothing worked. After my Uncle Ben died, it’s like nothing else mattered. Even though I was still there, she had trouble seeing it. I wish I could have helped more…” he trails off, stuck in a momentary loop of guilt.

Tony hums, considerately. “Is that why you started helping others?” 

Helping others? What? Why is Tony not making any sense? “...What? I don’t know -”

And he stops when Tony pulls his phone out of his pocket, flashing it up to engage the projection. 

His stomach hits the floor and keeps going. 

“That’s you, right? Look at you go,” 

Tony is holding up a video, from about a month ago, when he stopped a bank robbery getaway driver by running it into the side of a bus. Well, not him, but Spiderman. He tries his very best not to stutter and get nervous. Only one of those he could mildly control. He’s lied his way out of worse situations, he can certainly lie his way out of this one. 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t know who you think I am, but Spiderman isn’t it.” he says with more confidence than he feels, because there’s a reason Tony Stark was the world’s best inventor.

Tony finishes the short video, smiling at the screen before setting it down. “You know, the one thing I’m wondering is: how did he do it? I’d love to know. Was it an actual spider? Or was it the standard extremely colourful liquid inside a 7 inch needle -”

“Mr. Stark, I really don’t-” he tries to interrupt Tony, and he knows he heard him, loud and clear because he continues.

“It was Oscorp right?” 

Peter doesn’t know if there is a hell, but if there is, it’d be freezing over right now from the ice in Peter’s glare. They’re both engaged in a staring match, every one of Peter’s senses in zeroed in on the man in front of him, screaming  _ Threat! Threat!  _ And thanks, but he’s figured that much out already, it just would have been nice to know before he waltzed in here like nothing could go wrong. It always goes wrong. Peter doesn’t ever have any luck. 

He thinks that about three whole minutes pass before he says anything. Peter has to voluntarily unclench his jaw muscles to speak.

“What do you want from me?” 

Tony grins at him like the cat who just caught a mouse. He raises both his hands in front of his face, intertwining his fingers.

“It was that 93 days, when you went missing. Stop me if I’m wrong here, but I’m never wrong.” and at the moment, shrouded by hatred, guilt, grief and so many more emotions he’s nowhere near close to processing, Peter wonders how he could ever respect this man going forward. He knows that not all of it is directed at Tony though, a great deal of it was also directed at himself. 

Without having to be prompted, Tony continues his monologue. 

“I’m guessing, that from this paperwork here-” moving some holograms around, he pulls forward a familiar application form that Peter remembers filling out. 

“Oscorp was waiting probably, for a naive and inexperienced little thing like you - still basically a toddler at the ripe age of 16, factored in with the pressure of needing to support yourself and your aunt and her habits financially - seeing that big monetary reward for just a dumb drug trial? An absolute cakewalk. So what if you weren’t actually 18 yet, it was worth the risk anyway, wasn’t it? A little white lie never hurt anybody.”

Peter remains silent. 

“And even going so far as to making a fake ID? Honestly, I’m pretty impressed with it too, and it obviously fooled them.” (or they just didn’t care enough that he wasn’t actually 18, but Peter doesn’t say anything about that).

Peter repeats his question, and he notices a familiar but mildly disturbing rage boiling in the pit of his chest. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Tony stares at him again. 

“I want to know what happened. No, correction, I kind of  _ need  _ to know what happened - because I also may have kinda promised Steve that I’d get the information before-”

“Wait. Steve? Steve Rogers? As in Captain America? Who did you tell about me?!” Peter stands up now, the legs of the metal stool screeching across the tiled floor.

“Nobody, I promise. And I don’t make a lot of those. I just said that I may have had a lead and that I’d report back about it. They don’t know anything about you  _ or  _ that you even exist.”

He crosses his arms and paces in front of the table, the anxiety is now creeping down his legs and he really wants to kick something, but Tony probably wouldn’t let him leave anyway. Peter has a bad feeling about this whole interaction though, minus the fact that he was outed. Something is unsettling. Unsettling enough to bother Tony Stark, apparently. 

“Why would you need to tell the Avengers about me?”

“Again, I didn’t tell them about  _ you  _ specifically - you just have information that we are in need of at the moment and it’s kinda time sensitive, so-”

It hits Peter like a brick wall to the face, much in the same fashion as a few nights ago when he missed the trajectory on a swing and ended up face planting right into the brick wall of Burger King. 

“Oscorp is doing something, aren’t they?” why didn’t he draw this connection as soon as Tony started asking? 

Tony sighs, a deep rattle in his chest, looking down and wringing his hands together on the table top.

“There’s kids going missing. All signs point to Oscorp doing some shady shit in their lab just outside the city. We don’t know what exactly, but it’s concluded that it was started or inspired by whatever happened to you in that lab, six years ago.”

_ Kids? _

Peter can’t help the flashback he gets, he sees three too-young faces filled with tears again.

His jaw clenches. If he talks, they might go after  _ him  _ directly. That would throw a wrench in his plans that was just entirely too big to dislodge. 

“What about me? What am I getting for it?”

Tony smiles, like he was expecting it.

“Conditional and temporary Avengers status for the duration of the mission. Complete with a full suit and tech upgrade, courtesy of Stark Industries, of course. We can also probably work something out with you and the  _ uh  _ local authorities, to get some of them to stop trying to persecute you for butting in on their power trip.”

He watches Tony retreat from his spot, walking towards a table near the back, where he grabs the handles of two chrome coloured briefcases that looked more suitcase sized. They looked to be heavily reinforced. 

He places the two cases in front of Peter, on the table with the latches facing him. Peter looks at him expectantly and he thinks he was supposed to catch on to something.

“Well, go on.” he gestures towards the cases. 

Peter hesitantly walks forward. First, he hits the button for the case on the left, and then moves to the right, without opening either. Reaching forward, he pushes both of the lids open with a loud and metallic clunk on the table’s surface.

He doesn’t know what to say. Not that he could say anything, because all of the air that was in his lungs has currently vacated his body. 

The case on the left holds a clean and updated version of his current makeshift suit. The sides have holograms and projections floating around it that he doesn’t care to read at the moment, because honestly, if he had a multi-billion dollar lab at his disposal, he’d probably make this exact suit for himself. The reds and blues are just the right amount of vibrant, and even the eyes have what he assumes is a reinforced lens that projects information onto it from the inside, similar to the Iron Man helmet. 

The case on the right is a bit more of a challenge. It takes him a second to realize what he’s looking at. A small square glass-looking case rests below two entirely black wristbands with extending triggers, that he realizes are web shooters. But, why would he need just the web shooters? And then the realization dawns on him, remembering a few nights ago when Peter was transfixed with the watch gauntlet. 

They’re  _ nanite  _ housing. Tony Stark made him a fucking nanite Spiderman suit, contained completely within something he’s able to wear every single day. Well,  _ if  _ he agrees, that is. 

His jaw is on the floor, and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to pick it up any time soon. But, much to his own dismay, he reaches forward to close the cases, knowing they’d only prove to be a distraction (and temptation) from the task at hand.

Sighing, he stands and stares at his hands for a minute, thinking. Tony watches him, shifting from foot to foot out of the corner of his eye. 

“I have conditions.”

Tony visibly perks. “Yeah, yes, anything-”

“Nobody can know me. I mean it,  _ nobody _ .” 

Tony doesn’t say anything, but he nods.

“Not the Avengers, not the police - fuck, I don’t care if Nick Fury himself wants to know. I don’t want anyone I know being caught in the line of fire.”

“Done.” 

Peter nods once and continues. 

“I’ll tell you what happened, and you only. You can relay the important and key information to them, but that’s it. I  _ do not  _ want questions from anyone else. I also don’t want that information getting out, lest someone try to replicate it - this city has a problem with insane scientists.”

Tony giggles, and even though Peter feels halfway to vomiting, it’s the best sound he’s heard all week. 

“Done. Anything else?” 

Peter worries his bottom lip into his mouth out of habit, but it’s not missed when Tony’s eyes follow it.

“What happens after everything is said and done?”

“Well, like I said, conditional and temporary Avengers employment.  _ If  _ you want to join my super secret boy band, the offer will stand. If not, you’ll be off on your merry way and you’ll never have to hear about it again, and it’ll probably be easier to patrol with an upgraded suit anyway-”

“Meaning I get to  _ keep  _ the suit?” 

“Suit _ s _ .” He corrects. 

He can’t help the smile that tickles at the edge of his mouth. 

Peter closes his eyes, voluntarily letting a deep sigh roll through his chest. 

“I need coffee, this is going to take time to explain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think!! any feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> [tumblr](https://thrki.tumblr.com)  
[starker tumblr](https://ddystrk.tumblr.com)


	4. flashback - part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is the first part of a flashback, so it takes place when Peter was younger, and not current day - just as not to cause any confusion! the next part will be up soon, I just couldn't resist leaving it on a cliffhanger

He could do this. He could do this. Right? 

Oscorp had approved his application, so he’s pretty sure he was in the clear. He had a bit of a baby face, sure, but he’d done what he could to make himself look just that little bit older. The meeting for the drug trial was at their main lab, just outside of the city. He was scheduled to check in with their front desk at 9:00 AM. So he caught an early bus, leaving was easy enough when May was still sleeping. And since it was currently Saturday, she probably wouldn’t be out of bed until noon. 

He couldn’t really quell his feeling of apprehension though. He tried, but figured it was just from the situation as a whole instead of what he could possibly be walking into. It’s not like he was doing anything particularly shady though, right? He needed money. He’s already sold non essential things around the house that were in good enough condition to be sold, as well as making and repairing some tech for some people he knew, but it quickly proved not to be enough. Especially since May was calling in for more and more shifts. 

He’s accepted the fact that she doesn’t want help. She doesn’t think that she has a drinking problem. He still tried small nudges, like leaving specific pamphlets out on the tables, but May was a stubborn woman on her best day. So instead of trying to argue with her and failing miserably every time, he just figured he’d try and support himself to the best of his abilities and try not to be a burden. 

He was browsing online for odd jobs that he could get paid cash for, maybe even something like babysitting or housekeeping. He stumbled upon an ad for a trial for a new experimental drug. Apparently it was easy enough, they’d just have the participants take it, and then they would be continually monitoring for different physiological changes.

It didn’t occur to Peter at the time that it didn’t actually list anywhere what exactly the drug would be for or what it was. 

Now, sitting on the bus and staring out the window, he can’t stop wringing his hands together, and he thinks that he should probably get it out now because fiddling with his hands might make him look younger than he’s pretending to be. Granted, 17 isn’t an odd age to start working at, but it was stated that the participants had to be 18 or older. However, when Peter read the payout amount that they’d be getting? He threw all caution to the wind. It’d be enough to support himself for at least a few months, maybe more if he’s careful about it. 

He tips his head in thanks to the bus driver as he leaves, following the map on his phone to where he needed to go. 

The exterior of the building was nice. Nothing flashy or over the top. It was all concrete and gray edges. The doors were glass and he was careful not to leave fingerprints all over them from when he pushed it open, lest it ruin the aesthetic. It opened to a very professional, beautifully lit foyer. There was a lone front desk with a metal cut out sign of the company’s name attached to the front of it. 

A woman who looked to be in her late 20’s with long, black hair pulled back into a sleek and professional ponytail perked when she saw Peter walk through the door. 

“Hi, welcome to Oscorp Laboratories, how can I help you?”

Peter straightened his spine, trying to project his lie out into the space in front of him. He explains that he’s here for the trial, and shows her the email he was sent. 

“What’s your name for check in?”

“Desmond Thompson.” Because as naive as Peter is, he wasn’t stupid enough to use his real name. 

“Okay, just take a seat and I’ll let them know you’re here.” She smiles warmly at him and gestures to her right and it’s just then he notices two seats against the far wall.

Looking back on it now, he doesn’t think she had any idea what was going on, and he’s not sure if he feels sympathy or not. 

He startles slightly when he hears a gruff voice call out his (fake) name. He snaps his gaze away from the floor where he was staring to a tall man, wearing glasses and a lab coat. His skin was aged probably more than what was considered strictly healthy, but he was able to bite his tongue thus far at least, might not want to spoil it now.

In retrospect, Peter probably also ignored the generally  _ dark  _ aura this man was emitting from his every pore. Something about him still leaves Peter so unsettled, feeling like his blood is entirely too thick for his veins. 

“Mr. Thompson?” 

“Yes, hi!” Peter stands and politely holds out him hand for the man to shake, and he takes it naturally. His hand feels cold, but his palm is sweaty. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Norman Osborn, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, sir,”

Dr. Osborn smiles and Peter has to fight himself not to shiver. 

“Come with me, and we’ll get you all set up for the trial.” Peter nods once, following him down the hall from where the man emerged. 

Dr. Osborn turns his head ever so slightly to look over his shoulder, looking at Peter as he speaks. “So you’re from Queens, Desmond?”

“Yes, sir Dr. Osborn, born and raised.”

Dr. Osborn waves his hand at him. “Please, Desmond, just call me Norman.”

Peter nods once with a smile. Norman leads him into a hallway with rows and rows of doors on either side. He notices that they look kind of like high quality reinforced steel, and that observation sets a dark pit in his stomach that he tries his hardest to ignore. He watches Norman pull a key card with a lanyard attached to the top out of his lab coat pocket and swipe it against the small black sensor on the wall. He opens the door with a loud groan of protest from the metal and leans against it to keep it open.

“Right in here, Desmond.” He gestures inside the room with his arms open. 

Peter nervously steps forward and the gnawing in his gut increases. It doesn’t seem to be any bigger than the average bedroom, but it looks exactly like an interrogation room that he’s seen on many different TV shows before. Complete with a basic stainless steel table and another basic chair on the side closest to the door, and on the other side there’s a chair with padding and arm rests on it. As he moves to sit down, he notices the chair also has wheels, which were currently locked in place, preventing it from wiggling about. It’s not unlike a wheelchair, he muses. 

Norman pushes himself off of the door when Peter gets himself in the room, and he hears it slam shut behind him. He takes the simple chair, leaving only the wheeled chair for Peter. He tentatively lowers himself into the chair, already uncomfortable.

“Okay, Mr. Thompson, I’m just going to ask you some more basic questions before the trial.”

Peter nods, listening. His mouth feels dry, and he has to resist smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to produce saliva. 

Norman asks him basic questions, as he said he would, so Peter doesn’t know why he’s still gut an ugly feeling about it. He asks about his blood type, any history of heart conditions, hereditary concerns, history of cancer, et cetera et cetera. Peter answers all of them honestly because nothing that he has answered so far would be able to blow his cover. Norman finishes writing on the page clipped down to his clipboard, and walks behind Peter to a small cabinet fastened to the wall he hadn’t realized was there. 

“Okay Mr. Thompson, I’m just going to take your blood pressure and heart rate, followed by your temperature, do I have your permission to do so?”

Frantically, Peter nods. “Yes, sir.”

He wearily watches as Norman pulls a cuff out of the cabinet. He’s worn a cardigan on top of his tee so he asks him to take it off to get to his bicep unhindered. Peter is positive that his blood pressure won’t be in a good range, what with how anxious he is. The feeling of Norman’s bone cold hands on his skin aren’t helping either. He finishes, and starts packing the supplies to go back in the cabinet, and when he’s facing away from Peter, he starts to speak.

“You’ll be a perfect candidate. This will go well with you, I’m sure. With how healthy you are, you might just hold on long enough to get some real results.” The words he said make no sense, and are frankly quite disturbing, but he said it with such nonchalance that one might think he was simply talking about the weather. 

“...I’m sorry, what? I’m not sure I understand, sir, I-”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to understand, love-” and doesn’t that make Peter’s spine arch involuntarily, trying to get away from the sensation of needles in the veins, “not now, in any case. It’s nothing personal, honestly, but you’re so healthy and so young it’s impossible to pass up.”

“Dr. Osborn, I think maybe there was a-a miscommunication s-somewhere and I’d really like-”

“Oh, no. No. Sorry, Peter. It’s too late for that.” and before the words finish leaving his lips, Peter feels the sharp jut of something breaking his skin on the left side of his neck, the pain blooming down his shoulder and it makes all of his muscles tense as he gasps for air. 

He doesn’t know exactly how Norman knows his real name, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it? Not when his wrists and ankles are being strapped to the armrests and legs of the chair by some tech he’d probably be interested in was he in any other scenario. 

His vision starts bleeding into double as Norman moves in front of his line of sight. He only just catches what he says.

“Just a sedative, don’t worry. I’ll see you on the other side, Peter - sleep well.”

With the last of his strength leaving his body, he shoots the man a downright evil glare, just before his body gives out, his chin hitting his chest as he slumps with unconsciousness. 


	5. flashback - part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this flashback is lasting a lot longer than I was intending for it to, so bare with me pls, im working on it
> 
> also pls forgive me, this isn't beta read bc I obviously don't have a beta reader lol

Slowly and carefully, his consciousness comes back. It’s much like waking up from a deep sleep, but it feels as if no time had passed at all. Or rather, he wasn’t able to grasp an idea of how much time had passed. It could have been days, or perhaps weeks, and he would have been none the wiser. 

The light (artificial, his brain  _ so helpfully _ supplies) is absolutely blinding. He’s hardly opened his eyes, and he already wants to close them. He tries to take stock of his senses as they slowly return. He definitely still has hands. That’s good. There’s no spots on his body shooting with pain, so they probably didn’t take his organs. Also good. The entirety of the situation though? Not so good. 

Fuck. That’s honestly just his luck though - it’s the Parker curse, he’s sure. He should really ask for it to be changed from  _ Murphy’s Law _ to  _ Parker’s Law _ . 

He wonders if it’s been more than a few hours. If it was the same day, and May was awake, she probably wouldn’t start freaking out until the evening, when Peter didn’t show up. If it’s been more than that, though? She’s probably already called every police station. Every friend Peter had contact with, hell, probably even showed up at his teachers’ doorsteps. There’s no doubt in Peter’s mind that May loves him, and would move mountains to keep him safe and sound. (He only kind of wishes she’d have a little more care for herself). 

He starts to come into his body more, and he knows for sure now that he’s lying down. It feels like a bed, because it’s relatively soft. He’s also kind of cold. He’s laying on top of the blankets instead of under them. 

Somewhat bravely, he opens his eyes. It still hurts, but it’s a little more bearable this time. The first thing that comes into view is the ceiling, which is really, really odd. It looks like it’s stainless steel. Much like the door of the room he was led into by Norman Osborn. What kind of rooms have steel ceilings? Well, from the looks of it, a cell of some kind. 

Peter leans up on his elbow so he can see his surroundings. He’s been laid on a single bed - less of a bed and more of a cot, really - with no headboard or footboard, just hospital type blankets fitted on the surface and a lone pillow. The bed is pressed into the corner of the room, which admittedly isn’t big. It’s maybe the size of a large bedroom, but it houses the essentials. In the opposite corner to the right from the bed is a half opaque glass-looking enclosure which he notices is definitely a shower. Right beside it is a toilet, only shielded from view from the chest area and down by a small half wall, and next to that, a small sink, also protruding from the wall. 

There’s no area that could possibly house towels though. No inlets in the wall, no dressers or wardrobes. That’s definitely for the best on his captor’s part, he’d definitely use that to his advantage if he had it - might have to get creative, but he’d use it.

But Peter knows that this room wasn’t meant for comfort. It’s a prison cell. He’s being held captive. 

It’s then he notices the furthest wall, the one opposite from the head of the bed, was a wall of paneled glass. Vertical panels, every three feet or so, there was a seam where they were bound together to form one solid mass. It too was opaque, but he’s willing to put his non existent money on it being able to change. Either he was being viewed without obstruction from the other side, or that it could change to transparent. Or both. That’d be interesting. Peter files away that interest for later though. 

He pulls himself to a sitting position, trying to keep the swelling of nausea in his stomach. Peter sits for a minute, trying to gather himself into some semblance of functioning. While screaming and crying might feel a bit cathartic at the moment, it wouldn’t accomplish much, and he’s sure his captors wouldn’t much care either. He needs a plan, and to make a plan, he needs to analyze. At least the scientific method never failed him. 

Still ignoring the feeling like his head was currently swimming in cotton, Peter surges up from the bed, beginning to scour the room for… well, anything really. Something. Please,  _ god _ , just let there be something he can work with. 

He takes his time examining the toilet, it’s seamlessly mounted into the wall, Peter couldn’t yank it off even if he was fully lucid. There’s no mirror or anything reflective enough that he can see himself in, so he has to examine his face by touch. There’s no wounds or bruises as far as he can tell. He goes to the shower next, and though it looks like the walls are glass - they’re not. He has no idea what it is. Impact or shatter proof, for sure. There’s no actual shower head, or lever to control the water or its temperature like normal. Instead, the shower head is built (again, seamlessly) into the metal ceiling above, a smattering of tiny holes. There’s a small circular black spot on the wall of the shower. It looks like a sensor. Great, he doesn’t even get to control the temperature of his shower. The fact that they had a shower and a toilet in here means that they definitely meant to keep him here for an extended amount of time. The revelation sends an ice cold hiss down Peter’s spine.

It’s then he realizes he hasn’t fully examined himself yet. Looking down, he realizes that he’s wearing something similar to scrubs in style, but thicker material. Meaning someone had to undress him. He slides his hand for his waist, and - yup. Those definitely aren’t his boxer briefs either. Instead of feeling creeped out or violated, Peter just feels a simmering anger deep in his gut that he knows hasn’t reached its apex yet. His feet are bare, and the floor is pretty damn cold, but he can’t possibly bring himself to care. 

Upon closer examination of the bed, he realizes it’s also a cot that’s unerringly fixed into the wall, and the mattress is laying on top of it. There’s no screws or posts or slats for Peter to take advantage of. Obviously, his captors has thought everything through, to the fullest extent. This was something highly planned, before he even got dragged into it, clearly. This cell was built with the intention of housing someone for an indeterminate amount of time with no possibility of them getting out from the inside. He wonders if he’s housed in a facility, probably not unlike a hospital, instead of maybe just a lone room.

Peter’s head is still filled with fluff and he doesn’t quite know where to even  _ start  _ with this situation. He sits back on the bed, leaning forward and scrubbing his hands on his face, as if it would clear the sedative from his system faster. He’s always been a lightweight when it comes to most things - alcohol, medications, weed, et cetera et cetera - he doesn’t see why this should be any different. 

He sits in self pity for a few minutes before a familiar voice sharply cuts through the uncomfortable silence in his cell. Not even the hum of electricity could be heard, and Peter’s lived his whole life within New York, there’s always been some kind of sound to latch on to. The silence disturbs him probably more than it should.

“Mr. Parker,” wow, he can’t possibly say how much he  _ hates  _ hearing that. Coming from Norman’s mouth, it sounds worse than a small child screaming bloody fucking murder. It makes every hair on Peter’s body stand on end and he swears he feels all of his organs try to eat themselves. 

“good, you’ve woken. I was beginning to worry slightly after the 36 hour mark had passed, but it seemed like your body just liked the sedative too much to flush it all out.”

_ 36 hour mark? He’s been out for at least 36 hours? _

Peter debates between screaming at the disembodied voice and staying silent. He chose the latter, but it didn’t last very long. 

“Now, you probably have some questions-”

“Who are you and what do you want from me?”

There’s a slight pause, as if he wasn’t expecting a response. And really, Peter doesn’t have any reason to suspect that there’s a mic anywhere in the room; for all he knows, it could have just been one way, but from the feeling Norman Osborn gives him, he’s willing to bet Norman always wants to have the last word. 

“Of which, I would be happy to answer, should you cooperate. If you do, it will make this whole process a lot easier.” he continues, but Peter knows he’s been heard. 

For the sake of himself, and gaining a little more leverage, he stays silent and bites his tongue. He needs to build himself something more to stand on if he wants to gain his footing and get out. 

“I’ll be coming to collect you soon, then I can answer your questions and after that, the trial will begin. How easy or hard you want it to be is entirely up to you. Choose wisely.”

There’s a barely audible staticy click of the PA shutting off. 

This guy’s got total power dynamic issues. He’s definitely drunk on it. Maybe, just maybe, Peter can use that. Play into his hand and wait for the right opportunity, because truth is: he doesn’t see many other options.

-

It’s been at least a few hours, Peter suspects. Granted, he didn’t exactly have a clock to keep watch on, but he’s clear enough now that he has a steady grasp of the passing of time. He was too foggy at first to still take a good stock of the room, so he gulps down mouthfuls of water straight from the tap (he remembers reading once that when you had been drugged, it felt like waking up with cotton balls in your mouth. He’s discomforted to say that he can now confirm that theory) and lies himself on the bed for another 15 to 20 minutes in an effort to let the remainder of the haze clear from his head. 

In his initial and hasty search of the room, he had missed a couple of things. The first being another seam in the metal wall, near the foot of his bed. It looked like a large mail slot, and on the same train of thought, it’s probably something to place a tray of food through. Or maybe other items. Peter pushes thoughts of the latter from his mind. He tries pushing on it to no avail. He knocks on it in different places and from the sound it gives him, he knows it’s empty on the other side, but it sounds like it stops again, and Peter knows that it’s a box. Of course they wouldn’t just have an opening; that’s too vulnerable. 

The next discovery sits beside the sink when he goes to examine it again, he comes across yet another seam in the wall, but this one had an exceedingly small indent on one side. Peter’s able to slide it open with minimal force. It’s another small box, but this one was roughly the size of a microwave inside, with a shelf separating it into two. On the bottom shelf, there were a handful of unlabeled water bottles, and on the top there were what Peter was assuming to be an energy bar. But, since it was unlabeled again, he couldn’t quite tell for sure until he ripped one open. It looked like a granola bar, but held weight like a protein bar. Even though he wasn’t particularly eager to eat, he picks at it anyway. He figures it’s better to have something in his system for his body to take from.

He looks at the windows covering one side of the room, too. They’re exceedingly strong. It wasn’t going to budge at all. Even if Peter was strong enough to rip one of the fixtures off of the wall to throw at it - it’d be a futile effort anyway. 

A suspected few hours pass, and he’s exhausted examining the rest of the room, and his head is steadily getting clearer. It’s all but gone now. With nothing left to do, and bored with pacing, he sits himself back on the bed and waits. He knows that he’s being watched, too. From the inside, outside, or more than likely, both. It seems they didn’t leave a stone unturned. Whatever they were going to do to him, they clearly had no intention of letting it be known.

Hanging his head between his knees, he can’t help but wish he got to say sorry to May. Sorry for leaving without saying goodbye to her (because realistically now, he didn’t know if he was ever going to see her again), sorry for getting himself into this situation, sorry for worrying her, sorry for being a burden on her - especially when she already dealt with so much. A few tears spring to his eyes from the thick lump in his throat, but he doesn’t let it get farther than that. Being in such a vulnerable state wouldn’t be good right now. 

A depressurizing hiss sounds in his cell, and he startles. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hands quickly, he sits up on the bed and steels himself. He won’t let it show how much he’s physically disturbed by Norman.

A single vertical panel on the glass wall turns sideways, to allow access. Well, that explains one thing at least. It forms a narrow opening and Peter watches as Norman walks forward, his hands clasped behind his back, a picturesque calm. 

Peter thinks about darting for the opening, once he’s out of the way, but he quickly realizes that he would have no idea where to go from there. He’d be lost like a (disturbingly accurate) lab rat in a maze, and they’d take him down no problem - so he vetoes the idea.

“Mr. Parker, how are you feeling?” 

Again, his blood curdles in his heart and a barbed wire pit forms in his stomach. He stays silent in response.

Norman stares at him, but Peter keeps his eyes locked on the floor. The older man chuckles - it’s an unsettling sound, and it’s as if he’s genuinely getting enjoyment out of this. 

“Now, Mr. Parker, I told you - you can make this experience as easy as you want it to be. All I’m asking is that you answer my questions truthfully.” he slides his hands into the pockets on his lab coat. “How are you feeling?”

What Peter  _ doesn’t _ say is  _ “Fuck you, you psycho creep.”  _ like he wants to, and it wouldn’t be his proudest quip, but it’s about all the brain power he’s able to muster up. His voice cracks and his eyes water when he responds. 

“I’m fine, sir.”

“No dizziness, nausea…?” he trails off, waving his hand slightly.

A tear slips out this time, which he hastily wipes away. “When I first woke up. Not anymore.”

“Good, good. That means we can move on.” he removes his hand from his pocket and extends his reach toward Peter in something that’s probably supposed to be inviting. He offhandedly thinks that perhaps, once upon a time, Norman was or wanted to be a father.

“Come, come, Peter.” 

Peter stands, his bare feet sticking to the floor with cold sweat and sounding in the consequential  _ schlick  _ of his skin peeling off the ground, and Norman places his hand on Peter’s shoulder, leading him toward the doorway that he came through. He pushes Peter through the doorway first, since it’s not wide enough to accommodate two people side by side, and the first thing he sees is another glass wall, the exact same as his. But instead of it being clouded, he could see into the cell, identical to his own. It was vacant. He looks left down the hall, and it’s the same all the way down. Rows and rows of cells with a bed, a toilet, and a shower. They’re also all empty. If he were to venture a guess, he’d say there was probably 20 or more cells in this hallway alone.

Norman sees him quickly examining his surroundings. “You’re the very first person to make it down here, Mr. Parker, you should be honoured. Your preliminary steps were absolutely perfect, I should only hope there are more people like you.”

Meaning he’s very obviously intending to up the occupant number.

“...Why me, sir?” Peter asks, barely above a whisper. 

“You’re in perfect health, Peter. Not an injured bone in your body nor a heartbeat out of place. We’ve found that those younger in age, for obvious reasons, tend to be healthier. For the tests to yield the highest rate of success, we need the healthiest possible candidates.”

Norman goes on to explain. He tells Peter of his initial theory of accelerated healing being applied to humans, and then how from that idea, if applied correctly, could give people beyond human abilities. Enhanced healing and strength, perhaps even speed and other traits. And that it was possible for each individual person, in theory, to gain different traits, due to differences in DNA and possible predispositions. From there, he tells Peter that they’ve filled in the gaps where human DNA has lacked, with alternative DNA. Peter thinks that sounds entirely too much like Jurassic Park for comfort; and everyone knows how well that went, even if it  _ was  _ just a movie. He continues, saying that also because of this factor, people may end up gaining different traits and abilities. 

Norman says that in their early trials, (which makes Peter wonder just how long this has been going on for) a subject’s substitution DNA was that of an eagle. In the short time they were able to get information from them, the subject’s eyesight had increased eightfold to what it was before the serum was administered. The subject had apparently described seeing entirely new colours, but for obvious reasons, wasn’t able to fully articulate something that hadn’t been viewed by mere human vision before. Norman’s use of the word ‘subject’ doesn’t escape Peter, either. As if the  _ human being  _ that they had tested on was nothing more than a piece of fucking paper. 

Peter realizes, through his talking, that he’s being held near the end of the hall. Maybe it was a wing? How many people did Norman intend to hold prisoner? And for how long?

He carefully darts his eyes back and forth in the hallway, looking for any sign of life, despite what he was told, as he leads Peter down the hall. Peter hears the slapping of his bare feet echoing. The floor was cold.  _ Really  _ cold. Obviously, it was concrete, and concrete was always cold to the touch, but Peter feels the chill in the air, too. Not to mention that there’s no windows anyway. Definitely for security, but he’s willing to bet that the facility is underground. He’s visualizing the front of the building he walked into, over 36 hours ago now. Somewhere near the lab, maybe? Perhaps even an extension of it. Either near enough that they would be able to transport Peter’s unconscious body without arousing suspicion, or there was a path connecting where he was greeted and where he is now. 

If it  _ was  _ connected to the main building, Peter knew the location. And they knew that he knew. They weren’t ever intending to let him leave - at least not alive. 

It takes an embarrassingly long time for Peter to realize that Norman intends to use him as a human experiment. He doesn’t remember the pathways that’s he’s lead through with a searingly uncomfortable hand on his back. He couldn’t tell how many turns there were or how long he was walking. His mind was completely blank and unabsorbing with panic. 

In general, he’s pretty good at wiggling himself out of shitty situations. He’s managed to avoid Flash thus far when he comes looking for him after school. He’s avoided getting into trouble with teachers from the kids who ask to copy his homework. He’s also managed, albeit unintentionally, to avoid any prying or investigation from the cops or CPS for this long. He’s usually pretty confident in his abilities to take advantage of what he can and when he can. He dumpster dives in his spare time, of course he’d be good at using what’s available. He’s also a pretty optimistic person in whole. But it’s starting to get slippery in his grip. It’s getting harder and harder to hold on to. He doesn’t feel like himself right now, and he doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. 

When he comes back into himself, he realizes Norman is still rambling and waxing poetic about himself and his work. Peter finally notices the room he’s been brought to. It’s a large space, and it’s circular, unlike everything else he’s seen so far. The lone chair in the centre is probably why it’s circular. It looks kind of like a cross between the mechanical chairs at a dentist’s office and the high-tech wheelchair he was sat in earlier. It’s leaning back at a 120 degree angle, so Peter’s guessing he’s probably at least going to be conscious for the whole endeavor. Great. There’s also a plethora of portable machinery near the centre with the chair. He knows one is an EKG, and recognizes a defibrillator, too. There’s a couple more that look kind of familiar, and the rest are completely foreign. He doesn’t even need to ask to know that they’re definitely not present in any hospitals. 

He fails to notice the two men they apparently passed next to the doorway, one on each side. They were bulky with excessive padding. It reminds him of SWAT gear that he’s seen on shows and movies. A pang hits his stomach when he sees the guns holstered on each one of their hips. 

“Alright, Peter, if you’ll have a seat, please.” 

Peter pauses where he’s standing, nervously wringing his hands together and looking from the older man standing next to him, to the guards at the door, to the chair, and back again.

He can’t stop it when his fear takes hold on him, and he tries his best to bargain - a desperate last ditch attempt. “D-Dr. Osborn, I-I don’t think I-I’m the best-”

“Nonsense, Peter, you’re an absolutely perfect candidate. This will go swimmingly with you.”

Peter’s eyes go wide and glossy with tears, beginning to spill over his bottom lids as he shakes his head frantically. “N-no! Dr. Osborn, p-please, I-”

It’s a visible change. Norman pulls himself to stand just slightly taller and Peter notes his eyes get almost inhumanly dark.

“Mr. Parker. You remember our talk, don’t you? It’s your choice how you want this to happen. I’ll even detail it for you: you cooperate, and sit down into the chair of your own accord. If you choose  _ not  _ to cooperate, Mr. James and Mr. Scott will have no choice but to restrain you to the chair by any force necessary. Do I make myself clear,  _ Mr. Parker _ ?”

Peter stills under the hand that Norman had placed on his shoulder in the midst of his talking. He can feel the ice from his palm seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He’s not sure if it’s just his mind playing tricks on him when he feels it start to creep down the outside of his arm. 

“Y-yes s-sir.” Peter stammers and nods his head. _ So much for bargaining _ , he thinks. 

The tears that were previously threatening began to spill over onto his cheeks as Norman gently guides him by the shoulder to the centre of the room. Peter carefully lowers himself into the seat. The padded seat squeaks under the shift. Peter leans himself back, head hitting the headrest, but not easing any of the discomfort from his body.

A sound comes from his right that he realizes is a door click, and he looks over to see a handful of people in lab coats pouring into the room, looking completely at ease with themselves. 

He brings his vision back to centre, staring up at the light overhead. He was never too comfortable with the dentist, in any case.

Peter feels more tears cascading on to his cheeks and drawing trails down his neck. His eyes follow Norman to his left, who wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and Peter gets a wave of deja vu. Taking the pump in his hand, he finally looks up to Peter’s face. He doesn’t dare think that it’s actually concern he sees flashing across his face.

“Don’t worry, Peter. I have no doubt you’ll work out perfectly.”

His line of sight follows Norman’s hand as it gets closer to him. Peter holds back a shiver and bites his tongue almost hard enough to bleed to stop himself from flinching, when Norman’s hand wipes his tear tracks on each cheek. 

He pinches his eyes shut with more force than necessary, seeing stars against the darkness of his lids. When he opens them again, when he’s sure that he can’t feel Norman’s hand anywhere near his face, there are more people surrounding him. He knows he won’t be able to remember their faces. 

A short woman hovers to the right of his vision, he sees she’s trying to get his attention. She adjusts the large framed glasses on her nose before offering him a weak smile that holds hesitation.

“I’m just going to give you an IV, Mr. Parker, is that okay?”

Her voice is very small and soft. Despite the task at hand, Peter feels slightly calmed by her presence. 

He doesn’t vocally agree, and it’s not as if he has any choice, so he nods instead. He watches her wrap his arm with a tourniquet and sterilize the inside crease of his elbow with an alcohol swab. She notices his apprehension of his stare, and smiles at him again. 

“Are you okay with needles, Mr. Parker?” 

She pauses her ministrations and waits for his answer before continuing.

“Y-yeah. They don’t bother me that much.” his voice is more shaky and watery than he expects it to be. He clears his throat.

There seems to be something that passes between them, because her eyes soften when she looks at him again. 

“It’ll be okay, it will go off without a hitch. You’re in perfect health, Mr. Parker.”

“Peter. J-just call me Peter. Please.” 

She continues, with gloved hands, to pick up the tip of a needle and uncap it. “Dora Skirth.”

“Thank you, Dr. Skirth.” 

She smiles sadly.

“You’re welcome, Peter.” she leans in closer to him, touching his arm and it looks like she’s looking for his vien. She lowers her voice, speaking directly to him. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t reply. He looks away right before she pushes the needle into his arm, and he feels the stiff, discomfort of the metal under his skin before it’s being peeled back a second later to be replaced with something softer. Dr. Skirth secures it to his skin with medical tape. He’s intrigued when he sees her connecting the tubing from the fluid bag. It wasn’t clear as he previously thought it would be, but rather an interesting shade of light blue. Peter swallows his curiosity and doesn’t ask what’s in it.

Peter watches the various people move around the room, grabbing and adjusting things in preparation. Nobody besides Dr. Skirth so far has spared him so much as a glance. He doesn’t know if they’re being paid not to care, or that they actually don’t. 

Peter swallows heavily at the lump in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut in an effort to keep the tears at bay. 

“We’re ready, Dr. Osborn.”

Norman nods at the shorter man who reported to him, and he moves to stand at the end of Peter’s chair, staring down at him. 

Peter squirms slightly, the fake leather on the seat squeaking.

“Ready, Mr. Parker?” his cold voice calls out.

Peter gently nods his head. “Yes, sir.” he spits through closed teeth. 

Norman signals to the rest of them, mumbling a few words that Peter doesn’t catch. Dr. Skirth takes her seat on the circular stool next to him again. Peter bites his tongue, watching her unhook the tubing of his IV from the small bag of blue fluids. She brings a needle, containing a few ounces of murky, off-white liquid to the junction to insert it. He watches with rapt attention as she hesitantly brings her thumb to rest on the plunger. 

“I’m sorry, Peter.” she whispers. If she wasn’t sitting so close to him, he would have missed it. 

So achingly slow, she pushes it down, propelling the substance into the tube. Peter watches it mix with the blue fluids already inside and crawl closer and closer to the crux of his arm. He watches it disappear into his skin. 

For a second, nothing happens. He’s wondering why Dr. Skirth apologized. Maybe she was just apologizing in general again, and not the way Peter interpreted it. 

Then, the burning starts. 

Peter’s only been stung by a couple of bees in his lifetime, but he knows well enough that it felt like a dozen or so had just attacked his arm. 

It starts exactly where it was pushed into his body, nestled right in his elbow and feels it crawling distinctly up his arm and over his shoulder where it branches. One continues its ascent up his neck, and the other path crawls across his chest and settles right in the pit where his heart sits. From there, the pain intensifies tenfold. It crawls down every vein in his body, lighting every nerve aflame. 

He wishes he’s able to tell what they’re doing and saying; where they’re taking on and off of him, but every single one of his senses have completely dissipated. There’s only burning and flames, licking its way across his body. 

He realizes he’s clenching all of his muscles, involuntarily, when they start to sting, too. His muscles spasm - his hands clench and unclench from fists, his toes are being cramped in place.  He vaguely registers screaming, it may or may not be coming from him. He wouldn’t know, really. He can’t hear anything except for the roar of pain his body is  _ begging  _ for him to stop. But he can’t. He can’t do anything. He doesn’t know up from down and right from left right now. He couldn’t begin to stop it if he tried. 

It’s not long before his vision licks black at the edges (as if he was able to absorb what he was seeing anyway). In reality, it probably wasn’t more than a minute before he passed out, but even the concept of time passing was a completely foreign concept. 

  
He only remembers screaming,  _ please _ , before he’s pulled under again. 

**Author's Note:**

> please let me know what you think!! comments and kudos are much appreciated!!
> 
> [tumblr](http://thrki.tumblr.com)  
[starker tumblr](http://ddystrk.tumblr.com)  



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